


Dripping from the walls and howling at the moon.

by nattycakes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dreaming, Fluff, Kissing, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Monsters, Pirate Sherlock, Redbeard - Freeform, SO MUCH FLUFF, Werewolves, holloway, why doesn't john notice what pants sherlock is wearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattycakes/pseuds/nattycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreaming isn’t boring. Long ago he had read about people who could manipulate their dreams, lucid dreaming it was called, and could change it to their will. Sleep was boring, dull dull dull but lucid dreaming, that was something completely different</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dripping from the walls and howling at the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'ed or brit picked. If you want that job, please find me on tumblr under Fallingsherlocks. :)

“This isn’t some faerie tale Sherlock, this is proper nightmares, proper monsters that we’re dealing with here. Don’t you understand that?” John was screaming at him.

It was at that moment that Sherlock realised he was asleep, that is to say, not awake, and dreaming. 

Dreaming isn’t boring. Long ago he had read about people who could manipulate their dreams, lucid dreaming it was called, could change their dream to their will. Sleep was boring, dull dull dull but lucid dreaming, that was something completely different. He used to recreate crime scenes of Jack the Ripper. He would follow the trail all over White Chapel, following The Rippers steps. He could see the crime unfold in front of him, and though he never told anyone, he’s still rather sure he could prove it was the American if anyone ever asked him. 

No one ever did, so it’s in the back of his Mind Palace along with other unsolved major crimes of the era. Sherlock would do a mass deletion of all non essential files once a year, usually right after Christmas but before the new year. It’s was his idea of a fresh start at one point, and after that it became a habit.

Not that he would tell anyone it was a habit. A habit would imply some sort of sentiment behind such actions, and the only thing Sherlock has ever carried some form of sentiment for was his childhood dog Redbeard. 

Until John Watson came along. In the nights where Sherlock had to sleep, but didn’t want to waste time sleeping, in his lucid dreams (the ones where he was absolutely not being a the world’s most feared pirate) he would see a small silver flask on the ground, with the initials DPS on them. (No one needed to know that those initials stand for the Dread Pirate Sherlock of course.) When he saw that flask, he knew he was in a dream and could then manipulate the dream to his will. 

After Watson came along, well those dreams had a much more flesh on flesh quality to them. Sherlock would be damned to tell, (as if such a silly thing existed to start with) before admitting that. John Watson running the pads of his fingers up his sides, his thumbs paying extra attention to his lower ribs? Of course not. 

So if he was dreaming, why hadn’t the blasted flask shown up? He hadn’t had nightmares in years, and the nightmares he did have didn’t have a werewolf in them to start with. Actually on that thought, “John, I am fairly sure that werewolves were not featured in fairy tales.” 

“Oh good, good, you can remember ‘round and round the garden’, but you can’t remember that Little Red Riding Hood had a damned nasty werewolf, can you?” John was hyperventilating. 

“No, that was just a wolf. Werewolfs are just proper monsters, big scary wolves. Well wolves, sure, but not people that turn into wolves.” Sherlock mused.

“Naturally. So would you mind telling me why people keep claiming that there is a werewolf roaming London,” 

Sherlock had cut John off with a rather hasty and messy kiss. All lips, a bit too much tongue, and a bit of a bite on the end. 

“Alright. Sherlock, I think this has to be said. But you’re not actually dreaming. At least, I can be sure I’m not dreaming.” 

“Why on earth would you say that John?” 

“Because if I was dreaming, you might not have stopped, and if you were dreaming this wouldn’t be happening to start with.” John said matter of factly. Actually he had looked rather pleased with himself. 

“I really do hate to repeat myself. Why on earth would you think that John? Actually why don’t you keep your thoughts to yourself. You’ve got a hard enough time, wait did you say that it wouldn’t have stopped?”

“Well, actually can we pretend that bit didn’t get spoken until after we figure out why there is a great big bloody werewolf running around London?”

“Half of London at best. You know, I rather hate that phrase, London is massive. There are 67 cemeteries, crematorium, and burial grounds in this greater region, and furthermore, how do know what I dream about?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was rather sure you didn’t dream at all Sherlock. I was about half-sure that you just fell down and got back up again 12 hours later recharged like a battery.”

“You still seem to think of me as a machine John. If I was, I assure you, my cases would be solved much faster.” 

“So about the werewolf?”

“You dream then, John.”

“Yes, so about the bloody werewolf then,” 

“You dream about me?”

“Yes, can we please not discuss this at this moment, we’ve got an actual monster to catch?” John was getting more and more exasperated with every word.  
Sherlock at least had the good grace to look a bit mollified. He did hear that his partner (a bit of a butterfly fluttered in his abdomen. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now. “Right, so you say it’s a werewolf when we actually didn’t see it transform. Also, it’s not the full moon.” He started walking away talking to himself. Leaving John in his wake once again. 

“Oh bugger.” was about all John could say. “Cheers then.” 

A very long cab ride back to 221B followed. Sherlock never stopped looking at his phone, and scrolling page after page. However, when he wasn’t typing exact phrases, to get exact answers he would leave his hand on John’s right knee. There, let him think about that for a bit. 

He also kept looking around for that ruddy flask. At least then this, well it can’t be a dream yet, can it? It’s got to be a hallucination now, doesn’t it? 

Sherlock’s brilliant mind. His wondrous, stupendous mind starting trickling down the facts at him once more. 

1.)There was a massive dog, (refusing to even say werewolf, now that was like saying Santa Claus really was behind the gifts on the stocking, and how convenient those stopped after you moved on your own and didn’t get anything in them anymore.) running around a part of London, Islington, in the Holloway area. Well that was a bit interesting, does it have anything to do with pissed students from London Met University.  


2.) This more than likely is someone’s dog running around biting people. Rabies didn’t exist here, so it was a half starved dog. Borning, they already did this. Beware the Moors indeed.  


3.) John Watson dreamed of Sherlock kissing him at the very least.  


4.) At buggering him at the very most. 

 

He played the facts over and over in his mind, but he only thing he could actually focus on was that two people actually have almost the same dreams. Now that his mind wanted to continue on. He wanted to hear John’s last dream, in detail. Starting with what John was wearing, to the color on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. What was the exact brand of pants was he wearing in this dream. Was he even wearing pants in John’s dreams? That’s not something he can remember from his own dreams. He would need to go through his Mind Palace. 

“What type of pants do I wear in your dreams John?” He didn’t even have the good grace to look up from his phone. 

“I have said more than once that after we have found this insane dog, which yeah, this is a bit of a repeat Sherlock, did that occur, wait, of course it did, you’re you, we will discuss, and to be honest, I never noticed you didn’t seem to want them on very long.” 

“Pity.” sounding completely neutral. There, that should cover that he was very, something about that. Disappointed? No, he couldn’t be disappointed that John didn’t catalogue dreams that him, or have such a nice sock index. It did however dampen his plans to only buy pants from there from now on though.

“I will make sure in the future Sherlock, to notice such things.” John whispered low into Sherlock’s ear, leaving a very solid, and a very warm opened mouthed kiss behind his lobe. 

“You, John Watson, are brilliant.” he threw cash at the cabbie, and started to go inside 221B. 

“Thanks. Cheers, but would you mind telling me why? I do like to keep track of when I get compliments.”

“Nonsense John, but you did figure this out, so you should get some of the credit.” 

The walk up the stairs to their flat was filled with heavy footfalls. 

“Yeah?”

Sherlock was taking off his scarf, then his greatcoat, toed off his shoes, then started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Uh, Sherlock, mate,” John started.

“You figured it out, it’s a repeat. The person who called about the werewolf, actually just wants us to run around and be stumped. Be scared. Be Baskerville all over again so they can have some publicity John.” He was slowly taking off his purple dress shirt, teasing at this point really. Almost unfair. Almost. 

“Right, so, why you.” 

“I want to know what your dreams are made of John. And you said not but 30 minutes ago that you would tell me after I solved the case.” the shirt was on the floor, and Sherlock was undoing his trousers and looked back at John when he said, “Are you coming?” and went into his bedroom.

It didn’t take John more than a second to answer “God yes,” and he tore his jumper off following behind Sherlock.


End file.
